Our boy turns seven today. Seven years of love and snuggles and play and joy and laughter and smiles and exasperation and sweetness and tail wagging and pawing and cuddle-time and barks and bullies and deep soulful looks. Happy birthday little man, we love you so.
Coffee is a good thing. Really good.
Last night, or more accurately, in the middle of the night, we woke up because one of the smoke detectors downstairs was first chirping, then talking. Anyone who has ever heard that sound knows how loud and annoying that chirping can be. Add in the voice saying, “battery low”, “battery low”, and at 2:30 in the morning it’s enough to make you lose your grip.
At first it’s disorienting. You wake up not really sure what’s happening. You notice the dogs are also sitting up, heads tilted to the side, looking at the door. What’s going on? Then you hear the first chirp. Damn. You know instantly what it is. You think to yourself, it’s loud, but not that loud. After all, it’s one of the detectors downstairs, so it’s not even on the same floor. Maybe, possibly, hopefully, we can all just go back to sleep and deal with it in the morning. You coax the dogs under the covers hoping the little extra bit of blanket buffer will help them to not hear it. They just get under, you just lay down again, and… chirp. Uhg! The dogs are back up, the little girlie is starting to shake as loud noises really bother her. Double damn. Then you think, OK, we’ll shut the door. That will help create an even greater sound barrier. Dogs calmed and back under, lay the heads back down on the pillows, close the eyes, start to drift off and… chirp… “battery low”. Oh for crying out loud! Time to get up.
We did. We got up, we went downstairs, we took the backup battery out, put a new battery in, headed back up to bed, and then… we couldn’t find the little girl. Relieved after putting in the battery we were back up stairs, Weston following, with the thought of how nice it would be to actually go back to sleep. Then, we realized Riley wasn’t with us. Weston was right there, but Riley was not. We started calling her and looking around. Something about her little personality is that when she gets frightened by noise she hides, and she shakes, and she never barks. For a dog that barks all the time in order to communicate with the people around her in all other situations, she doesn’t utter a sound when she’s scared. Not a peep. The couple of times we’ve accidentally locked her in a room she has never barked. Once, after shutting her in our room accidentally, we didn’t realize it for like three or four hours or something. We’d left the house and been gone, gotten home, and were going about our business when we realized she didn’t greet us when we got home. That was unusual because that’s when she’s normally at her loudest. We looked around and found her in the bedroom, sitting there on the floor behind the door just looking up, all tiny and cute. Not a peep out of her to let us know she was in there. So she’s very quiet when she’s scared. Meaning she’s hard to find. She’s also tiny. She can curl up in small spaces and she’s hard to see. And during a crisis, you know, a crisis to her, she usually goes downstairs to the media room or to our bedroom and curls up in a chair or on the bed next to a pillow, but she didn’t. The media room is downstairs so it was too close to the sound that was scaring her. The bedroom is where we’d been, so that was not for her either. We looked everywhere. Under couches, under beds, in closets she could get in, under tables, in corners… everywhere. She wasn’t in the house. We’d opened the doggie door since the dogs got up with us during this whole ordeal so the next logical step was to look outside. It was a bit stormy, though at that time it wasn’t raining, thank goodness, and we looked out. We couldn’t see her. Not anywhere out there. We stepped out on the deck and looked around, nothing. Then the little bits of panic and illogical thinking start in… Where is she? Did she somehow get out? If she did she doesn’t have her collar on because the pups “get naked” at night. If she did get out she’s hiding or running trying to get back to us, or… or…. or…. and on it goes in your head. We weren’t, either of us, mad at all. We started to get scared ourselves. We started to worry about her.
Finally I started to wander the yard on the periphery and found her, behind a huge tree near the back of the yard. She was hiding in the farthest point from the sound inside the house. She didn’t want to come in, even though the sound was gone. She was still shaking. And she was wet from the dripping leaves. I had to pick her up and carry her in. Luckily she calmed down pretty quickly when she realized the bad sound was gone and things were back to normal. Except by then it was nearly 3:00 in the morning and there’s nothing normal to the humans living in this house about being awake at 3:00 in the morning.
Adventures abound. Which is why coffee is such a good and lovely thing in the morning. Especially mornings after big nighttime adventures.
Weston is a guy of deep thoughts and feelings. He has soul.
I looked up a moment ago and there he was sitting on the chair in the corner looking out the window. He looked like a person, deep in thought, contemplating all of life’s ups and downs. He looked introspective and philosophical. He looked like Weston usually looks.
Six years ago we decided we wanted to get a dog and we decided on a Schnoodle because Karen’s daughter, Mary, had one and we loved him. So cute, great personality, small, and to top it off they don’t shed and they have hair akin to human hair so they don’t have dander and don’t smell like a dog. Ever. In fact they sort of have a smell all their own, each in their own way, like humans do. But I digress.
We went and looked at some dogs in East/Central Oregon and when one of the little guys came over and licked my toe it was all over. He was the one. Six weeks later, in April of 2007, we went and picked him up in Portland where we met with the woman who raised him. We’d had a name picked out for him already, but when we saw him, looked in his eyes, we knew instantly the name didn’t work. He looked too smart for the name. Too studious. Too deep. So on the drive back home, with the little guy sitting on Karen’s lap in the brand new bed we’d gotten for him, we threw names around. None fit until somehow one of us, I think it was Karen, mentioned the town of his birth, Weston. Yes, he was born in Weston, Oregon in the Blue Mountains. We looked at each other and that was it. Somehow, some way, Weston seemed right. It suited him. The him of major thought and intense looks.
Now, nearly six years later, he still has that same look. That deep look. He looks at you and into you at the same time. He is a guy of passionate feelings and sincere real love. He is incredibly smart, cunning, and curious. He is our little man.
Riley is girl of deep feelings, but of a different sort. She’s a little spitfire.
A year after we were lucky enough to get Weston we decided he needed a companion for those times we had to leave him at home. We didn’t want him to be alone. We wanted him to have a little pal, a buddy. He got a sister, not a natural born sister, but a sister none the less, and they have a love hate relationship. We had a name picked out for her too, and that one ended up sticking. Somehow Riley fits her. She’s full of energy, very vocal, and loves to put her head up against our heads and have a little pet. She gets so excited she can hardly contain herself, and is a tad quirky, but we adore her.
This morning when I looked over at Weston looking out the window a wave of love came over me, as it does so often with both of our little furry babes. Karen and/or I say, at least once a day I think, “I love them”. One of us always says it and the other one then always says, “I do too”. And we do. We love them. We love how they love us. How Weston always welcomes us home with a whole body wiggle and Riley always wants to lay in a lap. We love Weston’s kisses and the little girlie’s insistent pawing for a pet. We even love their more annoying habits, as you do with little beings you cherish. We love the schnoods. Like I loved how he was looking out the window this morning like a little person. Just as I love how, right now, he’s laying in my lap snuggling, looking back at me with those eyes with those deep deep feelings, and Riley is all curled up in Karen’s lap snuggling in close to her. We love them.
We love them.
Had to post this little number. Karen and I took a walk, with the pups, around the Belmont neighborhood last weekend. It was gorgeous out and gorgeous weather always calls for a walk. The dogs, of course, love it when we go on a walkabout. They were a bit thirsty, as you would expect, by the time we got back to the car. Riley is in the red collar, and Weston is behind her.
This is how Weston always throws out his patella. He stretches too far and pop, it’s out. Luckily he’s pretty good about knowing how to get it back into place. We’ve only had to pop it in a couple of times for him. I can’t do it, Karen has to. The vet showed her/us how, but I admit I’m too much of a wimp to do it.
Riley was, again, a pretty good girl with the crowds yesterday. She got a bit overwhelmed and had to be carried when we wandered around in the dense thick of it, but she didn’t bark very much and she was pretty brave. She’s taking a break in this one, waiting for her mums to finish up their slices of pizza so she can get back at it. Or, perhaps she’s saying… forget it, I’m done… take me to the car. Yeah… that might have been it.
This is Weston at Hondo Dog Park looking through the fence over to where the big dog area is. He might have been fancying himself as a big dog, but he’d never make it over there. He loves big dogs, but when he’s with them he spends most of his time laying down being submissive to them. He’s no fool.
Weston has been to Hondo a few times. Most of the time he’s sort of been like the little kid who is so shy they stand on the sidelines, waiting to be noticed or picked. We always sort of felt bad for him and tried to encourage him to get out there and play. This time, finally, he did that, even if it was just a little bit. He chased, he sniffed, he ran around with some of the other dogs. He didn’t do it tons, but he did it. Our little boy is growing up. Yeah, OK, he did still spend a lot of time jumping up into people’s laps. He’s like that. It’s how he rolls. He prefers the loves he can get from people more than the friendship he can get from fellow dogs. Ah well… lover, not fighter. We’re OK with that. And… so is he.
Took the kids to Hondo Dog Park yesterday after work. Perfect weather for it. It was Riley’s first time there. She did pretty well considering she can tend toward the anti-social. She never bites, or even tries to, but she sometimes likes to give a warning high pitched bark or five. Yesterday though… not bad. She didn’t do bad at all. I think there will be many more trips to Hondo in her future.
Ziggy is frequently called Mo. There’s a story behind this, which I won’t go into. Needless to say, these two pups are loved. Oh, and if you’re wondering about Ziggy’s breed. He’s a West Highland Terrier and Pug mix which makes him a Pesty. And… he’s all man. He is one macho little dude. Very sturdy, very strong, and surprisingly, very athletic. This little guy is fast.
This is, to his friends and family, Wicket. He is more formally known as Sir Wickersham or, if you really know him, Wiggles. He’s a schnoodle. Same as our pups. He is the elder statesman, being all of 4 now. He’s particular, stubborn, and very sheepy looking. Don’t let his cuteness fool you though… he’s a very good catcher of the ball.